My Hands
by Interstella
Summary: Based on a song. John tries to move on after Sherlock. Spoilers for 2x03 The Reichenbach Falls. First person POV. Johnlock ish.


A/N: Based off a song "My Hands" By Leona Lewis (Also used in Final Fantasy XIII). I would recommend listening to the song with the fic, but you don't have to. Not a true song fic-there aren't lyrics in the story, just the odd line that's taken directly from the song.

Enjoy.

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My days have become routine. That's all I have left. Routine. Get up in the morning, shower, dress, make the bed, go to work. But sometimes it's all too much. My mind is blank as I move, methodically completing tasks in that very precious routine. So I talk to myself. I look at the face in the mirror and I speak. I say nothing and I say everything. Just to fill in the silence. To keep my mind going. One day at a time. Just one more day without you.

My limp isn't back. It tries, but I push it away, determined. It's almost a last reminder, one thing you fixed within me –one thing I won't let break again now that you're gone. It's been three years, and I finally find myself able to go out at night. Able to at least pretend that I'm moving on. Moving on to a life without you.

I've convinced everyone that I'm starting to heal, starting to regain who I was without you. What they don't understand is that without you… without you I was broken. And day by day, I break a little more. So I do what I can. I try. I do everything I can think of to keep you off my mind, to forget that you're-

Well. Sometimes I'm good enough to convince myself. Sometimes I feel almost better. Almost whole. And then-then I think about the reason I have to pretend. I'm shattered. A thousand shards of the man I once was. I was only ever whole with you. And when I think I'll be alright, I'm always wrong. Always.

My hands reach for you. They don't seem to understand-don't _want_ to understand that you're not here. That I only need to make one cup of tea, or one meal for dinner. My hands reach out, they work to remind me of you. Of what I've lost. Of what I never had. And they won't stop shaking. They never stop shaking.

I can't move on. I've tried. I can't live with anyone else. They all seem so dull, so boring in comparison. They're always so transparent. Is this what it was like for you? Finding everyone so shallow, so two dimensional and flat? Did you always find other people to be so infinitely boring?

I'm not sure if I can do this without you, Sherlock. No… I _am_ sure. I'm sure that I can't. Slowly I'm breaking more and more, I'm cracking and I hide it. Nobody knows. Nobody notices.

But you would.

You would see the shaking in my hands, you would see them reaching out for a ghost. You would see that I can't- That I can't be without you. Why can't I let you go?

But sometimes, sometimes it's easier. I talk about you now. And I can do it without breaking down. I go to the pub with Lestrade and Mike. I can stay at home and be on my own where nobody notices. Where nobody cares.

I've stopped seeing your ghost. At first, I saw you…everywhere. I'd turn a corner and you'd be darting into an alley, your magnificent coat flying behind you. But I could never catch you. No matter how much I tried, no matter where I saw you or when, I could never reach you.

But no matter how many times I saw you, I'd chase. Always.

Sometimes, when I wake in the morning, my mind isn't blank. There's always the image of you, falling. I wake up, and I'm reaching for you, stretching as far as I can, trying so hard to save you. To keep you with me. To never lose you.

It's been three years now, but I still can't let go. And when I wake, reaching out for you, another part of me shatters, splintering from my core. There isn't much of me left now.

God I miss you.

I just want some peace. I just want to stop the shaking, to stop the reaching, to stop the _nothing_.

I'm sorry. I'm not as strong as I once was. My mind died that day-the day you fell and sometimes it feels like I'm just waiting for my body to catch up, to realize the inevitable. That I can't live without you.

I never told you I love you. I was always so afraid to, afraid that you'd leave me, or ask me to leave. I was afraid that it would change what we had and that I would lose you. But I lost you anyway. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry that I hid behind my sexuality. I'm sorry for all the things I left unspoken.

I love you.

I miss you.

And I know now, that until the day I die, I will never know peace again.

And who knows. Maybe what they say is true. Maybe, just maybe, when my core finally goes cold, I'll reach out to you one last time. And your hands will reach out for mine.

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A/N: Let me know what you think. Please. I've been out of writing for a while now and I'm not sure if I've got it back or not... Let me know.


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